


Speak To Me

by imamedicaldr



Series: Season E7 [1]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: Canon Divergence, First Kiss, Nothing lasts forever, Season 11, all things, plus one, season 7
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 17:42:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17750501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imamedicaldr/pseuds/imamedicaldr
Summary: If the events of "Nothing Lasts Forever" had occurred in season 7, specifically in place of "Millennium."





	Speak To Me

**Author's Note:**

> Part of the "Season E7" series, which re-contextualizes season 11 events for season 7. Composed of mostly canon dialogue that I do not own.

**_Cathedral of the Sacraments, Washington D.C._ **

He finds her where he anticipated she’d be, sending up her prayers. He’d found her in a similar position when they’d been in New York. She’d given him permission to leave and he’d felt compelled to wait. For maybe the first time in his life he’d chosen patience, to sit still, in a pew of all places. He’d been rewarded with a confession as to how she'd come to believe in the one thing he didn’t, and as with everything when it came to her, it wasn’t what he’d expected.

He doesn’t approach her right away. Instead he lingers, recalling the rest of their conversation, about choices, where they would be if they’d chosen other paths.

“I need what you have,” she’d said. “You always bear north, Mulder, no matter which way or how hard the wind blows against you.”

“I think all I have, all any of us have, are the results of all the choices that we’ve made. I mean, how many different lives would we be leading if we made different choices? We-we don’t know.”

“What if there was only one choice, and all the other ones were wrong, and there were signs along the way to pay attention to?”

“Then all the choices would then lead to this very moment. One wrong turn, and we wouldn’t be sitting here together. Now, that says a lot. It says a lot a lot a lot.”

He’d let the implication hang in the air. He knew what she was getting at, what she was wrestling with. They were at a crossroads, more so now than ever before.

He loved her, though the concept seemed almost reductive. And he knew her heart, he’d felt it, heard her innermost thoughts when he’d been in the hospital, she loved him too. He wanted a life with her, their life, but he didn’t feel like it was his choice to make. She deserved a simpler existence, if that was still what she wanted, and he was never going to be easy. So when she’d looked to him, eyes searching for an answer… a sign… anything… he’d balked.

“I mean, it’s probably more than we should be getting into now.”

She’d sighed and smiled, “Probably.”

And now here she is, again before a rack of votive candles, the flames dancing in her eyes. He watches her light a match with one candle and carefully carry the flame over to light her own. He slowly draws nearer as she brings the match to her lips, extinguishing it. Then they both witness her newly lit candle go dark, smoke spiraling up off the wick.

“That must be a sign. I’m all out of miracles. ‘Turn back, give up, accept your place in the numbing embrace of the status quo,’” she jokes with a hint of melancholy.

“Uh-uh,” he says, selecting a match. “I will relight your candle and extend your prayers through mine.”

“What prayers?”

He shrugs. “I can’t tell you. They won’t come true.”

“It’s a prayer candle, Mulder, not a birthday cake,” she admonishes, which elicits a chuckle from him. “Prayers aren’t meant to be sentiment. It’s a conversation. You can do it like a meditation, or if your needs exceed your grasp, you can ask God to act on your behalf.” She takes a deep breath and continues slyly, “But you don’t believe in God, so you’d essentially be talking to yourself.”

“Well, I-I may not believe in God, but I believe in you.” He watches her eyes flicker at his admission. “Therefore, I speak to him through you, through the transitive property of equality. If “A” equals “B,” and “B” equals “C,” therefore, “A” equals “C.” Reason and faith in harmony, isn’t that why we’re so good together?”

“Together,” she repeats with a smile and a nod, more a question than a statement, and he feels his heart constrict. “Mulder, what’s gonna happen?”

“What’s gonna happen when?”

“When we’re old? I mean, sooner or later they’ll shut us down or we’re gonna retire and… are we gonna spend time together?”

“I’ll come push your wheelchair with my wheelchair,” he deflects playfully, though it’s the truth.

She smiles but shakes her head. “That’s not what I mean.”

He tries to reassure her, steps toward her and takes her hands in his. “Oh, I’ll always be around, Scully. Offering bulletproof theories of genius that you fail to assail with your inadequate rationality.”

“And I’ll always be around to prove you wrong, promise.”

“Hmm,” he sings in approval. It would be enough for him.

“No, but that’s not what I mean.”

He realizes that this is it. She wants to know his intentions and she isn’t going to settle for avoidance any longer. But she is going to have to tell him what she wants, because what he wants feels like too much to ask of her. His tone lowers, soft and serious.

“Well, what do you mean, Scully? Because I don’t know if any God is listening, but I’m standing right here, and I am listening, right beside you, I’m all ears.” _forever and ever, amen_ , he thinks. “That’s my choice.”

His heart is in this throat as the tears well in her eyes and she searches herself for her reply. She surveys the pews and finds them empty before turning back to face him. She raises up on her tiptoes as he instinctively leans down to meet her halfway. Her lips to his ear, in a whisper so soft and low that he can barely hear her, she asks him to act on her behalf.

She pulls back and looks to him expectantly. “That’s not my four-year-old self looking for a miracle. That’s my leap of faith forward.”

Urgently but tenderly he takes her face in his hands and gently brings his lips to hers. It’s sweet and soft and eager. Time stands still as they hold each other, relaxed yet pressed firmly into one another. He deepens the kiss as he slides his hand to cradle the back of her head and she opens her eyes for just a moment, taking him in, gathering proof that this is real.

The smack of their lips leaving each other echoes through the empty church, punctuating their rebellious act. They steal another quick kiss before their foreheads come to rest together. He sighs and Scully laughs with the relief of it.

“I’ve always wondered how this was gonna happen,” he confesses as he lights another candle for her prayer.


End file.
